


Just What She Wanted

by Itsallfine



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bars and Pubs, Birthday, Dancing, F/F, First Kiss, Hoopkins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-14 01:27:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10526019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itsallfine/pseuds/Itsallfine
Summary: DI Stella Hopkins gives herself a much-wanted birthday gift, and a bolder and braver Molly Hooper does her one better.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GentleSpirit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GentleSpirit/gifts), [IamJohnLocked4life](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IamJohnLocked4life/gifts).



> This is my first crack at Hoopkins, and it was tons of fun. Commissioned by IamJohnLocked4Life in honor of GentleSpirit’s birthday. Hope you have a wonderful day! Give her some birthday love in the comments <3

“I’m here, I’m here,” Stella panted as she burst through the door, still shrugging out of her work blazer. A general cheer went up through the pub at her harried entrance, and she couldn’t help her answering wry grin. “Sorry, I got—”

“Yeah, we know how it is, Hopkins,” Lestrade boomed over the crowd, clearly already two—no, three—beers into the celebration. “Did you arrest the bastard?”

“You know it,” she shot back.

“Then someone get this woman a drink so we can toast her birthday _and_ her arrest record!”

Another cheer, some scattered applause, then the crowd separated back into their designated clusters—forensics, admin, major crimes, people who could tolerate Sherlock Holmes. Her job didn’t allow her many acquaintances outside those circles, but that suited Stella just fine; anyone who couldn’t keep up with her erratic work schedule wasn’t likely to work out long-term anyway. It made for a shoddy dating life, but—

But maybe not.

Leaning against the bar, chatting brightly with Sherlock, Greg, and John, was Molly Hooper, and Stella’s heart sent a hopeful thrum through her veins.

Molly still wore her simple, practical work trousers and flats, but she’d exchanged her jumper and lab coat for something slinky and shimmery that caught Stella’s eye and reeled her in. Her feet moved on autopilot, carrying her to the group even as her eyes darted over Molly’s form, collecting information about her day. At least one autopsy and one cup of coffee, went home just long enough to change her shirt, reapply makeup, feed Toby. She’d made a deliberate effort for someone.

For her, maybe?

A cool glass pressed into her hand as soon as she came within reach, and a shy smile stole over Stella’s mouth before she could stop it. Molly Hooper held the glass a moment longer than was truly necessary, their fingers brushing together around the bottom as their eyes met.

“Happy birthday,” Molly said, cheerful and just a shade too loud as was her habit when nervous. Nervous why? Dilated pupils, body language open, feet and pelvis turned toward—her.

Stella murmured a quiet thanks and held Molly’s gaze for a beat too long. She’d gotten the vibe before, deduced the signs, but was it curiosity? Interest?

And Molly let it happen. She tilted her head slightly, then brought the tiny straw in her cocktail to her lips without breaking the eye contact. A slow smile, and Stella did the same, sipping her drink and watching Molly through lowered lashes.

Game on, then.

Around them, the conversation moved to the case Stella had just wrapped up, and she let herself indulge in a bit of storytelling with occasional additions by Greg. She loved her work, cared deeply about it, but at the moment she particularly loved that _Molly_ cared about it, too. Really, they’d be perfect together. Molly understood the demands of police work, kept odd hours hours, found interest and humor in the dark places of life without judgment. She’d been wondering, wanting to test the waters, but they saw each other so rarely…

“I’m for the loo,” Molly said, setting her drink down on the bar. “Back in a mo!”

Stella watched Molly’s retreating form until a throat cleared behind her. Sherlock arched an eyebrow when she turned to face him.

“It’s a safe bet,” he said. “Just make a move already. Your constant pining is intolerable.”

“Sherlock,” John scolded. “Don’t interfere.”

Sherlock waved a dismissive hand, which John quickly caught and held.

“He’s right, though,” John admitted with a wry grin. “We’ll leave you alone for a bit so you can chat her up. Come on, Greg.”

Greg shot her a discreet thumbs up and followed John and Sherlock to a high top table, leaving her at the bar to watch over her and Molly’s drinks. She ran through possible approaches, discarding them one by one—then remembered her case notes in her trouser pocket. She withdrew the notepad and tore a sheet from the back, then scribbled a quick note on it and folded it up just as Molly reappeared at the back of the room. Stella stowed her notebook back in her pocket and took a long breath through her nose, let the hum of anticipation settle under her skin.

Molly smiled as she approached, her eyes fixed on Stella as they—yes, took a quick tour down her chest, hips, legs. When their gazes locked again, Stella let a flirtatious smile curl at the corner of her mouth, and she stepped a breath closer to Molly when she returned to her spot at the bar.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Stella held up the paper between two fingers, offering it to Molly.    

“What’s this?” Molly asked, turning the folded scrap over in her hand.

Stella smiled, looked down at her shoes then back up at Molly’s questioning gaze.

“A little present for my birthday.”

Molly blinked. “So you’re giving it to _me_?”

“Open it,” Stella said with a wink, then sipped at her drink as she waited.

Molly raised her eyebrows, but unfolded the paper.

 _Stella Hopkins_ _  
_ _020 7946 0224_

Molly glanced up with her lips parted, meeting Stella’s eyes. “Your phone number?”

Stella rocked back on her heels, her eyes darting over Molly’s face, neck, hands, deducing—good reaction? Bad one?

“Just thought you might need it some time,” she finally said. “We could grab a coffee, have a film night, maybe go dancing. Whatever you like. Bit of a boys’ club, our jobs. Thought you might like some female company.”

Could be friendly, could be more—up to interpretation.

Molly bit her lip and flushed, but she held Stella’s gaze with all the boldness Stella had always admired. The air sparked between them, and Stella licked her lips. Let no one underestimate Molly Hooper when she has that look in her eye.

Molly took out her phone and entered Stella’s number, then Stella felt a vibration in her pocket. A new text.

_Now you have mine too!_

Stella smirked.

_I’ll put it to good use, I promise. ;)_

“We need to take a picture to pop up on the screen whenever you call me,” Molly proclaimed when she received the text.

“Oh, you think we’ll be calling each other often, hm?” Stella said, letting an edge of suggestion bleed into her voice.

Molly blush intensified, but she focused on her phone, bringing up the camera app. “Here, come here.”

They pressed together, side to side, their backs against the bar and arms around each other’s waists as they smiled for Molly’s phone camera. Stella kept her expression under control, her smile light and friendly, but she was hyper aware of the press of their breasts and hips, the point of contact at their temples where they leaned their heads together. She _wanted_ , and Molly’s sweet smile sent a pang straight to her heart.

Molly texted the photo to Stella while their arms were still around each other’s waists, then drew back—but not too far.

“Would you like another drink?” she asked. “My treat for the birthday girl.”

“Just one more,” Stella agreed. She chanced a look over at Sherlock’s table, caught the man’s eye, and he raised his drink in salute. _Told you so_.

Stella rolled her eyes, but returned the salute anyway. _Nothing’s guaranteed yet, Holmes._

Stella let herself be led by the hand to a vacant table where she and Molly pulled their chairs side by side, leaning their heads close to hear each other over the din. Their conversation spun a wild trajectory from binging television shows to the best dim sum in Brixton to last month’s nasty triple murder, each laugh bringing them closer and closer.

“I bet you were sore after that case,” Molly said, wiping her eyes and stifling giggles.

“You have no idea. You’d think after fifteen years in the Met I would have been pistol whipped by a suspect at least once, but no, that was a new experience for me.”

Molly’s giggles died out, and she lifted a hand to brush Stella’s hair back off her forehead, revealing the still-healing gash. “No concussion, though?”

Stella let her eyes fall half-shut and turned to ghost the tip of her nose over the inside of Molly’s wrist.

“No, Doctor, I was quite lucky,” she murmured. “Why, are you concerned for me?”

“Am I allowed?” Molly teased.

Stella rested a hand on Molly’s knee and met her gaze—daring, frank, surprisingly heated. She took a breath, traced a finger along the inside of Molly’s knee, and licked her lips.

“Let me be honest with you, Molly—”

“No, let me,” Molly interrupted. Stella drew back in surprise as Molly took a breath, then another, then drew herself up to her full height and looked her dead in the eye.

“I like you. And I’ve never dated a woman before, but I’d like to. Date you. If you want to. Please.”

When she finished, she let out a gust of a breath, her cheeks burning red, but still just as determined. Stella’s heart leapt into her throat, and her tongue tripped over itself to get her answer out as quickly as possible.

“Yes! Yes, I—yes, please. I do. Want to. With you.” She stopped, and they stared at each other for a long moment.

Then they burst into giggles.

“Oh my god,” Molly gasped between laughs. “That was—”

“Yes, it really was,” Stella agreed, leaning forward to brace her forehead against Molly’s shoulder, still shaking with laughter. When she pulled back to look at Molly again, her eyes were shining and warm, and Stella let her hand on Molly’s knee drift a bit higher.

Molly’s gaze fell to Stella’s lips, then flicked back up to her eyes.

“You know, we could start now.”

A spark of heat ignited between Stella’s legs.

“Now?”

“There’s a club two doors down. Gay club. They play great music. I haven't been often, only when Sherlock needed to vent his John angst at me before they got together, but…” She trailed off, her attention catching on the slightly strained button over Stella’s chest. “I think dancing with you could be… fun.”

“Yeah,” Stella breathed, then shook herself to full attention. “Yes, let’s go dance. And I…”

She swallowed hard as they stood from their chairs. Had to say it, had to rein it in before things got out of control. “I don’t mean to come on too strong. I’m not expecting anything. I know you haven’t been with a woman before, and—”

Molly snagged Stella’s belt loops with two fingers and tugged until they were pressed together at the hips, then leaned up, took her mouth in a sweet, lingering kiss.

“Come on as strong as you want,” Molly said with a firm nod, then kissed her one more time, slow and warm, with a faint flick of tongue on her lower lip. Every point of contact between them was electric, full of potential energy, of _promise._  

“Message received,” Stella said, breathless and flushed. 

Molly grinned, utterly pleased with herself. “Then let’s go dance, birthday girl.”

She grabbed Stella by the hand and tugged her toward the door, with a brief stop off to say goodbye to Sherlock and John.

“We’re going dancing,” Molly announced proudly. “We’ll be at the usual, Sherlock, if you and John want to tag along.”

Stella nearly protested, but the wicked look that passed between John and Sherlock stayed her tongue. They’d probably dance two songs before disappearing to the loo for a shag. Molly turned back, beaming, and Stella’s stomach did a dramatic swoop in response.

_Oh, I am so done for._

Molly winked and dragged her to the coat rack, then out into chilly night air that did nothing to cool the images in her mind, soon to be fulfilled, of Molly Hooper’s hips pressed to hers, grinding in time to a beat. If she was really lucky, that might carry over into the late night.

And if she was really, really lucky, into the morning, and the weeks and months beyond.

Molly looked down at their entwined hands, then back up, and Stella swore her smile lit up the whole night.

Best birthday _ever_.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Spoiler alert: It carried into the years beyond, and they now have two cats, a collection of succulents, matching wedding rings, and a ridiculously posh bed. Stella wears Molly’s jumpers around their flat, and Molly steals some of Stella’s shirts for work because they make Stella look “so powerful and professional” so they make Molly feel that way, too. <3


End file.
